Monster
by slingading
Summary: Steve would literally rather by dropped off a 200 block tall cliff than spend another second in Herobrine's company, but of course the douche wants him to suffer. Honestly, Steve's just too tired to care at this point.
PAIRING - None

WARNING - Loose talk about death/suicide, language

POV - Steve

* * *

"I don't consent to this."

"That's why you're tied to the table. Things could be easier if you just allowed me to—"

"Things could be easier if you just leave me alone!"

Herobrine smiles condescendingly at him. "But Steve, as a zombie you'll die if I let you decay enough, and how awful that would be!" The fake sincerity in his voice has Steve grinding his teeth and struggling with renewed vigor against the leads holding his limps down.

"I hate you! Just let me die already!"

"Calm down, I've told you before." He leans over the table to peer down at him. "I don't like losing things that belong to me."

"I'm not a _thing_ , and I _don't_ belong to you," Steve snarls.

"You see, that's where you're wrong. You do belong to me. And you always will. Now relax. This'll only take a moment."

The last thing he sees is Herobrine's toothy grin before he blacks out.

* * *

"Get away from me."

"Now don't be like that Steve. Can't you at least hear me out?"

Steve turns on his heel and jabs a finger into his pursuers chest, glaring. "I've already heard you out, and I'm not interested. Why don't you do the world a favor and die already?"

"Hey, if you can figure it out, please, I invite you to try." Cocky bastard. Steve rolls his eyes and walks away. Or at least, he tries to.

"Hey, wait." His arm is grabbed but he yanks it away. He feels his shoulder joint give a little and holds his arm to him, looking at Herobrine in accusation. He's partially responsible for this whole mess anyway. Actually, scratch that, he's _one hundred percent_ responsible for everything horrible in Steve's life.

"Go. Away. I'm not in the mood for this!"

"You're never in the mood for this," Herobrine scoffs, stuffing his hand in his pockets. He smirks after a moment's pause. "Though, if you'd like I could easily get you in the mood."

Steve scowls in disgust. "In your dreams. For the last time, leave me alone."

He can feel the stare boring into the back of his head when he turns, and it promises things he doesn't want to think about. Whatever, he'll deal with Herobrine later. He always has to.

"Stop."

His legs halt against his wishes and he curses silently to himself. Why can't he just ignore it? Why does he always feel compelled to listen? To follow orders?

"Be careful around Watershed. The people there have been lighting the nearby forests and becoming more hostile towards your kind. I'd hate to lose my favorite zombie."

"Gee, thanks."

* * *

Out of spite, Steve goes to Watershed.

True to form the town is surrounded by torches. The sun is out at the moment, but he gets the feeling it would feel like daylight even in the middle of the night, there are _that_ many torches.

The people there, from what he can see under the safety of the treeline, don't appear any more manic than normal. Everyone has a fear of the mobs, some overcome it and fight back, most cower and run. Steve had always tried to avoid mobs but he'd fight them if he had to.

He still tries to avoid them.

But he's forced to avoid people and he hates that. He'd always been social, ever since he was a kid. He was never able to just stroll through a town, having his armor repaired and resupplying himself and then being on his way. He'd hear of a problem here or there—a roof that needed fixing, walls that needed reinforcing—anything that needed to be fixed, Steve would offer his help. And it was all instinctual, he never had to think about it.

If he tried that now he'd be killed, and he believes this with unwavering certainty.

So unfortunately, his only 'friend' is also the person responsible for the hell that is his everyday life.

Sometime when he was truly alive, he'd attracted the attention of Herobrine, who many people fear greatly. Those who don't fear him think he's just a myth, and for good reason. Herobrine rarely leaves the Nether, claiming that the Overworld is dead to him and there is nothing of interest there for him.

Steve finds this hard to believe because the Nether is a literal hell, and there's way too much red for him. But maybe that's a personal thing.

Of course Herobrine's claims of hating the Overworld have discrepancies. If he doesn't like the Overworld, then why was he in the Overworld the first time he saw Steve?

Not surprisingly, Herobrine has yet to tell Steve his reasoning.

It's not like Steve _really_ cares anyway, because he doesn't. As long as Herobrine leaves him alone, he's happy never finding out the reason. All he wants is his life back.

Or to die. He also wants that.

Neither of those options are available to him sadly, because Herobrine's a sonuvabitch who takes what he wants and will fight to the death to defend it.

What could Steve have done to earn this fate?

A shout from the village draws his ear and he hides instinctively behind a tree for more cover. Once, when he'd just been resurrected and had been in fierce denial about his new state of being, he'd run from Herobrine into a village he used to frequent often. The people there had been scared of the 'new' type of zombie, who looked more human than the rest and didn't burn in the sun, and Steve hadn't looked in a mirror after being brought back, otherwise he'd never have gone there. Where his eyes were supposed to be white, there was black, like the other zombies. Anyone who looked him in the eye would think him a zombie, and as time went on, his skin started fading and turning green in places like his elbows and fingers, where the skin was crinkled often.

He looks more zombie-like now than ever before, with skin torn and stretched awkwardly around him, an obvious green rather than his natural brown skin. Herobrine had once told him that he could restore Steve's skin to its previous condition, and could strengthen his bones, but Steve had denied him every offer. He's half hoping that he'll decay to death, though he strongly doubts Herobrine will let him, considering Herobrine will gladly preform the treatment on him.

As he watches a group of miners leave for the day, Steve puts a hand to his chest over his heart. The organ hasn't beat once since his untimely death, and yet he still feels that ache of loneliness. He still feels human, and it kills him a little bit more inside every time he's reminded of all the things he can no longer do.

Sighing, he turns and gasps. There's a sword at his throat.

A young girl, with pale orange hair and fiery green eyes is on the other side of it. She's watching him carefully, holding the sword steady. Unsure of what to do lest he acquire a new injury and have to explain it to Herobrine, which just the thought of detests him, he stays still and hardly breathes. Actually, as a zombie he doesn't technically need that basic function but, old habits and all that.

One thing that he's got going for him is her clear confusion of his appearance. At a distance he probably looks like a zombie, but close up there's no doubt that something is different about him.

"You poor thing," she says, pity filling her eyes. "You must be newly turned too." She sighs and raises her sword, readying to strike him down. "The least I can do is end your suffering."

If only.

"Um, I'd really rather you didn't."

She gasps and her eyes widen as she stumbles away from him, her sword now being held shakily in front of her. "You talk?!"

He rubs the back of his head. "Yeah...It's a long story."

"But how?" Her eyes narrow. "Is this some kind of trick? Is there a witch nearby?"

"No no, I swear I'm alone." Okay, so there's a chance Herobrine might be lurking in the shadows waiting to kill this poor girl. Steve desperately hopes this isn't the case; maybe he'd finally obliged Steve's request and had given him some breathing room. Gods he hopes so, for this human's sake.

"Then explain. How can you talk?" Her brave front isn't enough to cover the concern and anxiety shining in her eyes.

"...Like I said, it's a long story."

"I've got time."

"Will you believe me though?"

Her expression relaxes somewhat. She seems taken back by his statement. "I..."

"You've no reason to. Listen, I'll give you some friendly advice, and I'm speaking from experience here: be careful around people who say they mean no harm. As you can see, it'll do you no good."

"What do you mean?" Already he can see she's not really listening to him, because her sword is sagging and she's not in any proper stance for combat.

"How do you think I got like this?"

"Weren't you...weren't you bitten by a zombie?"

He laughs. "I wish. Oh how I wish that were true." He can tell his attitude is unsettling to her, and frowns, sighing. "Look, can't we just...go our separate ways? I'm not going to hurt anyone."

"Well, how do I know that? You just said I shouldn't trust those words and I know how zombies work, you might not do anything but your friends will. I can't take the chance of endangering my town by letting you go free."

"Then kill me."

"What?" She takes a step back as he takes a step forward. Despite her words she doesn't seem the least bit prepared to defend Watershed from any zombie, sentient or not.

"You heard me. If you're not going to let me go then kill me, right here and now."

"B-But you just said that you're not going to hurt anyone."

"And you just said you won't let me leave."

"I...did, but—"

"—Nothing. Look, are you going to let me go or not? Because truth be told there's something I haven't told you and he could very well be waiting to attack you."

"You—!" She holds her sword up again and glares at him. "You fiend, I knew you had friends with you! I shouldn't trust a word from your mouth."

"He's not my friend. I hate his guts and want him to die, but I've tried and nothing's worked. He's the one who made me this way, and he's very protective—or, no, he's possessive. Whatever, the point is that he doesn't like it when I talk to humans."

"Why?"

"Because they kill that which they do not understand."

The young girl's eyes widen and Steve can see her body freeze up in what is most likely the highest level of fear she's ever experienced. The sword, still held aloft, starts shaking violently, her body following suit to a lesser extent as Herobrine walks around her to stand beside Steve.

"Am I wrong? You would kill him because he is not human and no other reason? He says he will harm no one and yet that means nothing to you. I wonder why that is? Can you tell me?" His words are condescending and, in Steve's opinion, douchey(like him, how fitting), and his face shows only contempt as he stares her down.

Through the trembling she manages to stutter out a few broken syllables, but quickly clamps her mouth shut when Herobrine shakes his head.

"Pathetic."

"Herobrine."

"You would defend her?" He rounds on Steve, throwing a hand out to reference the shaken human. "You would defend this worthless and hurtful human?"

"Yes I would, mostly to spite you but also because I used to be one of those 'worthless' humans and I don't yet feel like I'm not still one of them." He crosses his arms and turns away. "Just leave her, she's not a threat."

Were she not trying her best to imitate a statue, Steve's sure she would have vehemently denied his words. He'd seen the fire of her spirit and it burns brightly, like his once had. But Herobrine has too much of an effect on humans for them to function properly unless he wills it so, rendering them mostly useless and vulnerable in his presence.

He can tell that Herobrine would like to stay and torment this young girl, but apparently Steve can't go anywhere without his second shadow so, luckily(for her), Herobrine spares her one last glare before leaving her be.

When they're far enough away, Steve turns and slaps Herobrine's arm. "What the fuck's your problem?"

"What?" Steve does not believe Herobrine's look of shock and innocence for one second.

"You're despicable."

"I take that as a compliment."

"You would." _Cocky bastard._

Steve sighs and runs a hand—carefully, damn his fragile skin—across his face before staring tiredly at his unfortunate companion. "Please promise me you're not going to go back there and murder her."

"Aw, come on! Way to suck the fun out of everything. Why protect them still, after all these years?" For all their talk of some pretty heavy subjects, Herobrine is the picture of nonchalance as he walks with his hands in his pockets, whistling every now and again while Steve glares unhappily at the ground, a byproduct of having to share Herobrine's company.

"I guess your giant ego has already made you forget that I've never enjoyed being like this, nor do I blame humans for treating me a certain way when I would probably do the same."

" _You?_ You were too kind for your own good. You'd have let a zombie into your home if you thought it could be helped somehow." Herobrine doesn't seem to realize what he's just said, but Steve definitely understands all that it might imply.

"How do you know what I would have been like? I died shortly after we met." There's heavy accusation in his voice and it has Herobrine backtracking quickly.

"Yeah, but you wore your heart on your sleeve back then. You were all too easy to read and I know your kind. Tell me I'm wrong."

Of course he can't, so he drops the subject. One day he'll get Herobrine to tell him why he did what he did, but for now Steve's just happy if he never sees the guy again.


End file.
